Tout le monde à la mode

Ok...I admit.  I want the french to think I'm french.  I think it is a general goal of all "expats" to NOT be the guy who obviously does not  belong.  It's especially frustrating when the parisiennes seem to instantly know I am not french, as soon as I open my mouth.  Last night it happened on one word.  ONE WORD!  I said "merci" to a woman opening the door for me and she said "your welcome" (and no...she wasn't an anglophone).  Alas, if I insist on speaking french they always come around and start speaking french.  I guess I should appreciate their willingness to help me.

Of course, it doesn't end with the language.  One must "look" french as well.  When I arrived it meant I immediately shelved my tan jeans.  Personne (nobody) wears light colored pants here.  Your choices are black, grey, or...if you are really a trouble-maker...charcoal.  Actually, the one exception is blue jeans.  My most recent purchase was a scarf.  I have never worn a scarf in my life (well maybe once) but in Paris it is THE accessory.  So...I marched out to the store last night for my scarf.   Jane says I look tres français now.   Black pants, black coat, scarf.  J'y suis arrivé.

If you love fashion, of course, Paris is a wonderful place to be.  Especially, by the way, if you are male.  I have never seen so many shops for guys.  It's nice to have so many options.  But it is an especially great place to be if you love lingerie.  The french obsession with...well...obsession is not a stereotype.  They love to love.  And the women love to make sure the men want to love them.  You can't throw a stick in Paris without hitting a lingerie shop.  Gee...what a shame.